Other People's Dreams

A man is sitting on a bench. He's taking a drug that shows him how his consciousness constructs reality. The way in which his eyes see the world and send bits of information to the brain. It's nighttime. The man is short and stocky. When his brain gets this information, it creates the images more or less from scratch. This is without the drug. With the drug, he sees the steps of the process. Like a flowchart. He can also choose to interrupt this process. Right now, he's choosing to interrupt the part where his brain creates a sense of outline among objects. Where it figures out what is foreground and what is background. He sees you, but you are wall, tree, gutter, bird, texture. It's the opposite of smells. They no longer blend. Usually when we experience smells, it's in their post-blended state. He smells them pre-blended, as individual particles that we don't experience any other way. Smells with outlines. Toon-shaded. (display:"dwarf link") [[He sees you.]]

He appears to be staring hard at you. His hair is chaotic. Everything about him is chaos. A short stocky cage around an internal whirlwind. (display: "img_dwarf_02") [[Listen to him]]

It's still and all you can hear is the sound of him slowly sucking on his drug dispenser. One might say lost to the world, but what is lost, what is the world? (display:"img_dwarf_03") [[See yourself through his eyes.]]

You are a simple 25 year old male. Every once in a while you open your front door to gaze at this man. Attempt to see the world through his eyes, through his body, with his brain. Feel yourself become your environment, lose your identity. [[Look back at him]] [[Grow]]

His brow furrows with undulating changes underneath. His thoughts are not what we consider thoughts. But what are thoughts but one thing following another? We free-associate. What word are we in the habit of producing next in a sentence? [[Leave your house]] [[Take a nap]]

You shouldn't be getting taller, but you are. At your age, you are fully grown, but you feel as if you are expanding. [[Leave your house]] [[Take a nap]]

You go out into the world. [[People watch]]

A neighbor passes by. Sherri. She's always joyful and vibrant. She fully embodies this from head to toe. Is she any more or less in the world than the man on the bench? She is running through it. But she is so lost in thought that you imagine there is nothing around her but her. She's creating the world through her emotions. [[See yourself through her eyes]] [[Head to the park]]

You imagine how that influences the way she sees you. She seems so excited to see you, but you know it's mostly internally-manufactured. [[Head to the park]]

There's a park near your house. You evesdrop on a conversation. It's easy: there are two people talking in a glass house. Truthfully, "eavesdrop" is not the right word, as you can't actually hear through the glass. But you can see everything. You know everything. You watch their body language, observe their lips. The girl is depressed. The other is listening, giving advice. [[Look up at the clouds]] [[Walk toward the water]]

You look up at the clouds. Your own special brain forms them into a being. You talk to the being. It listens. You say you're uncomfortable with the shifting boundaries of everything. The being asks what you mean. [["I mean how nothing looks like itself when I see it with my new eyes."]] [["I mean how I'm never sure what to do."]] [["I mean I'm starting to see things like that man on drugs. I'm unclear on the borders of objects."]]

They respond: "It's possible that your memory is failing. Or successfully degrading in the way it was planned. Enjoy noticing new things. Soon you will be pure awareness." [[Turn away from the cloud]]

"You don't have that many choices. Pick one. Don't be greedy. All it takes is a shift left or right, a click of the mouse." [[Turn away from the cloud]]

That man is real. Oh, you mean you're starting to see things the way he sees them. If you're ever curious about where the edge of something lies, USE YOUR HANDS." [[Turn away from the cloud]]

You turn to leave and realize a crowd has gathered around you. They are clearly emotional. Do they see the same thing in the cloud? Are they reacting to you? Are they on drugs? [[Watch the crowd]] [[Walk back toward home]]

They are clearly worshipful. They all have their eyes closed but some briefly peek at you. [[Look closely]]

You see individual faces, which gives you some relief that you are not seeing things like the man on the bench. [[Walk back toward home]]

You pass a playground. There's a girl in a ball pit looking at you. She says, "We're never going to get out, right?" She pulls a pacifier out of the pit, throws it to you. "I'm never going to stop seeing you." [[Think of something to say]] [[Hide from the girl]]

She turns, pulls out another pacifier. "Go get it," she says. She thinks you're a baby. Maybe she can sense that you keep seeing things with new eyes. That your eyes follow her and the undulating mass of multicolored balls with wonder. You think, "Maybe I am a baby." [[Ask the girl]]

"Am I a baby?" you ask the girl. She digs out a pacifier and throws it at you. [[Hide from the girl]]

You find some fish hanging on a line and attempt to hid, or at least give her other things to aim at. She pulls out another pacifier. She hits a fish. [[Look at the girl]] [[Look at the balls]]

Her eyes are combinations of multitudes of eyes. She has thousands of parents. Her face is a trash heap, a recycle bin, a compost bucket, the result of worms, tiny, microscopic, atomic, wriggling and combining based on their own desires, their own attraction to each other. [[Continue on your walk]]

You're not certain if she has a body beneath the balls or if her lower section dissolves into organic spheres. A puddle of globby material. Her eyes are wild. She knows what you're thinking. She throws another pacifier. [[Continue on your walk]]

After a long, slow walk back, where you trudged through the air as if it were made of the same material as your legs, you arrive at your doorway. Still 25 years old and male. You wonder what's up with the space of your house. You haven't stepped through the doorway yet. Is there anything there before you step? Does it appear at the moment of entry? [[Just go inside]]

You gather yourselves together and come inside. The house celebrates your entry. Your earrings twinkle. There's an inner world that makes you happy about this outward nothing. [[Admire the place]]

You live in a studio. It's all you can afford. Thankfully, the one room is of a realistic bohemian style. It's comfortable. You take everything off: shorts, skin. You become a blanket and lay across your bed. [[Consider]] [[Reflect]] [[Critique]]

Sure, it's empty and bland. [[Window]] [[Oops]]

That girl thought we were trapped here forever. Is that so bad? Where else would we be? [[Window]] [[Oops]]

Your room exudes a hellish absence of humanity. Your clothes and skin have left, if they were ever here. [[Window]] [[Oops]]

You look out the window: a tree. A tree-ish. Of course, trees don't exist in the same way fish don't exist, from a scientific perspective. The thing outside the window fits more accurately into another category. Or, actually, maybe this is the only tree. Outside of scientific classifications, we've created tree-ness. [[Fire]]

You're a pillow. You fell on the floor. [[Fire]]

The fire keeps going. It's getting darker. You're so alone. You've always been. Deeply alone around people. All trapped in their aloneness, their immateriality, their nonexistance. [[Feel]] [[Take a bath]]

The bed is solid. So is the room. So is the air. [[Take a bath]]

You get out of bed to go soak in the tub. You float a bottle of liquor on the bubbles. The light is soft. The bubbles are soft. You are in the water up to your eyes. [[Drink the booze]] [[Blow out the candles]]

You take a drink. Imagine you're like the skeleton who walks into a bar. The drink goes right through you. It acts sweetly. [[Meditate on the bubbles]]

You blow at the candles. They're resistant. [[Meditate on the bubbles]]

The bubles are an island. You hear gunshots outside. Wonder if the dwarf on the bench is ok. He probably is. You are so relaxed. [[Wait]] [[Get out]]

Before you know it, it is the middle of the afternoon. [[Wait some more]] [[Get out]]

You finish the bottle of booze and get out. However, the floor drips onto you and you have to drop your towel. [[Go to the kitchen]]

It is night again. Elegant, glamorous night. You imagine the tinkling of a coctail piano. The sound is hollow but steamy. The candles wink at you. [[Continue waiting]] [[Get out]]

It's once again the middle of the afternoon. Your fingers, toes, buttocks, and knees are all prunes and raisins. The water is still just warm enough. [[Wait until it's cold]] [[Get out]]

The water is now cold. It's spoiling the romance. [[Get out]]

You go to the kitchen to make some rum raisin ice cream. The goal: A Divine, Spirited Ice Cream Delight! You soak the raisins in rum for an hour. [[Think while you wait]]

You consider waiting overnight for a richer rum flavor. You think about the raisins plumping up, swollen with booze. Absorbing and becoming one with their environment. Losing their boundaries, mixing solid and liquid. Becoming a raisin flame, flickering between worlds. The new being opens its eyes. It's Divine, and Spirited. [[Time to get to work]]

In a separate bowl, you whisk the egg yolks until smooth. The yolks explode their boundaries and swirl. These two chicks would have never known love and you are making them make love. [[Time to get to work]]

It simply appeared to the left of you and you picked it up without thinking. [[Time to get to work]]

You cook the mixture over fire. A buble rises and looks at you. You pierce it with a spoon. Pulling the spoon out, you notice that the back is fully-coated. It's time. [[Time to get to work]]

[[Whisk]] [[Pour in the warm milk mixture that you don't remember making.]] [[Flame]] [[Stop and think]]

You feel suddenly shocked at what you've gotten yourself into. "I'm making ice cream." You feel unsteady. "I could have just bought it at the store." You lay down, sweating. [[Jump up to turn off the fire.]]

The raisins are still soaking. [[Lay down]]

On the couch you generate an image of the perfect rum raisin ice cream in your head. How many raisins? Where do they fall? The firmness? Fluffiness? The visual slides into your mouth and becomes texture (and cold), then flavor before turning into a slippery puddle going down your throat. You realize you forgot to imagine chewing the raisins. They pop and melt in your mouth. [[Touch yourself]] [[Look up]]

You'll always have your imagination. [[Before you forget...]]

Your eyes are open and the fantasy is gone. [[Before you forget...]]

You lean over to the coffee table and open your diary. The recipe that you began didn't turn out so well. However, the recipe for the imaginary ice cream was pretty close to perfection. There were some details that you probably wouldn't want to look too closely at, but otherwise it was almost exactly what you needed. [[Write]]

You begin to write: "A Divine, Spirited Ice Cream Delight!" The only instruction: use your imagination. [[What if you've never had this kind of ice cream?]] [[Are you sure there's nothing else?]]

Use someone else's imagination or memories. There's enough of this information going around that we never need to make anything again. We can combine each other's memories into a generative experience that approximates everything we could need.

It's a good thing that there is no more to write, because as you pause to make sure there is nothing you forgot, you hear a knock at the door. [[Answer it]]

It's your friend, probably here to give you some outdated advice. He immediately sits on the couch. (Was he ever at the door?) "Hi," he says. [[Hi]]

You respond with, "Hi." "How are things?" [[I just took a bath.]] [[Was having some dessert.]] [[I'm worried about the man on the bench outside.]]

He looks at you with a smug, confident expression. "I hope you didn't use soap. It's bad luck." [[Ignore him]]

He pulls his snug polo shirt down over his belly and shifts in his seat. "Good thing you're not pregnant. Otherwise I'd tell you to avoid dessert." [[Pregnant]] [[Not pregnant]]

He shifts and you just now notice the dialysis machine that he's pulled along with him. You don't know how he brought it in. "There's two of them there now. The more you think about him, the more there will be. It's better if you just ignore. If you ignore, the suffering eventually goes away." [[Wonder]]

I //am// pregnant," you lie. Immediately, you are excited about the baby. Your first one! You touch the sides of your belly and smile. "What's his name?" he asks. "It's a she," you say. "Her name is..." [["Raisin"]] [["Soap"]] [["Daytime"]]

"I don't think I'm pregnant," you say, looking down at your belly. [[BANG]]

[[BANG]]

He's 55-65 years old. Of course he's superstitious. You just smile. He looks at your mouth like you have one too many teeth. [[BANG]]

You wonder what would happen if you ignore your friend. It's hard not to look at him. Everything behind him is blurry. [[BANG]]

Just then you hear a loud noise. You both run to the window. [[Look out]]

You observe the scene, but eventually you just hear your friend's breathing. You're sure that the rest of him isn't there. Outside, a man is playing with a balloon. Sometimes it pulls him off the ground. [[Stare]]

You can't make out his features or whether he's happy or sad. He's grabbing the balloon with both hands. Sometimes he trusts the balloon enough to let go of it, and the balloon stays. Is he training it? He releases it and it returns. There is no one else around. [[Wonder why he's training his balloon]]

What is the technique? How does he show the balloon what are the boundaries for where it can go? You don't see any punishment or insentive being used. Does the balloon love the man? Vice versa? Maybe it's that solidity in the air you felt earlier that keeps the balloon in place. No training at all. [[Stop watching]]

You slam the window.

You arrive at the sea. Large. Insipid yet sophisticated. It's like a painting. You stroll along the water. It gently dissolves you. [[Greeting]]

You yell out and your voice takes off on a trip over the water. Skips like a stone. No one answers back. [[Waves]] [[Sky]]

The waves hang from the sky. Like a mobile, twisting. [[Take in the nostalgia and quiet pretension]] [[Admire the distant, hazy coastline]] [[Enter the timeless yet detached water]]

Cream bulges and threatens to erupt from the sky. It hints at violence, pretends to lack control, but it is clearly designed for an upscale yet uninspired interior. [[Take in the nostalgia and quiet pretension]] [[Admire the distant, hazy coastline]] [[Enter the timeless yet detached water]]

The blandness of waves that don't know they're waves. Created by something that doesn't know it's creating waves. One thing following another. Reverse dominoes. The waves unscatter. [[You see a deer in the distance]]

You take in the subdued blues and soft beige tones. [[You see a deer in the distance]]

Under the surface of the water you notice the source of the waves. It's two sharks eating each other. Recycling one into another. A salutation of teeth. The tireless act of the unfinished bite. There might as well be one ourobouros shark, as with each bite one takes of the other, the other takes of the one. Blood, entrails and water mix soupily. The sharks do not notice you. [[Check out the horns]]

The two sharks remind you of rams battling on the mountain. Unquestioned urges, goals colliding, the smell of one's own meat emanating from the fight, from the sweaty, bony grappling. [[Inhale]]

The shark notices you stealing its scent. It hisses.

You trudge toward the deer. It doesn't move, fixed to the background. You look for clues as to the logic behind it. The fur and curves of the face. Impressions of minor deer spawn behind it. [[Look closely at the head]]

The head in front of you is hyper realistic. More deer appear tow atch you walking. These moments you feel of hyperrealism. More distraction than awareness. Bedazzled, bamboozled by detail. Millons of worms writhing together to make one, and then make that one all. More space is filled. [[Observe the scene.]]

It's a pristine Florida beach during sunrise. Waves continue to roll in the background. The lighting is dramatic. Deer continue to come in and out of view, obscured by depth of field. The horizon line blends into the deer's face. The sunsets gave birth to this scene.

You wake up to the sound of rain. Outside the window, it shatters the ground. The sun hit the drops and they became liquid sunlight, or perhaps the sun originated from within the drops. The sunlight is seeping underground. The layer of earth is shifting. The earth is another layer of atmosphere, with hot air underneath. [[Wonder what will grow from this]]

It's possible a city, or a unicorn. A table surrounded by dead stares, smiling and dumbly-ready. The hot rain bakes the data, fuses the limbs and scratches off the serial numbers. [[Open]]

You open the window and some of the holographic amber prisms land on your skin. The backs of your fingers feel it land and spread. It enters your eyes. Your pupils resemble fractured star projections. It gives everything a surreal atmosphere. [[Look at the cracks]]

You look closely at the golden corrosion cracks on the ground. A new scene emerges from the refraction glow. [[Wait for what emerges]] [[Leave your house]]

There's a flower or an angel or a piece of tissue floating. A magical light is baked into everything. The rain has stopped, now the scene is wet with light. The flowers are fed by history, a puddle of paint, and (spiritual) desires. It reminds you of the garden of Eden, and you realize there is intent behind it. [[Follow the movement]]

The tissue becomes more clearly angelic. The folliage creates a valley of arms for the angel's threatened stage dive. The trees are clearly hiding a jungly darkness, tempting. [[A larger movement]]

Forest wraps itself into shapes and sounds, like a mouth. This one buzzes and flaps with its peculiar decentralized vocal chords. The flowers attempt to covertly absorb the sounds but the yellow sunlight pulls them out of hiding. [[Still sleepy]] [[Head to the forest]]

You feel sleepy. The angel leaves the forest. You feel something buzzing in your mouth and spit out a fly. It's another angel and a flower. It absorbed the wet sounds of your mouth and it's emitting them into the air as it dries. A sounding dryness. The resonance is soft and feathery. The trees curve in submission to tradition, averages. [[Leave your house]]

You stand in awe of hte forest. It's like an oil painting. It's morning. Might as well be 200 BC. You hold up your walking stick, mindful not to let it fall in the water. The reflections of treees are un-self-aware copies. Mist blends with the hilly forest, looking like cobwebs. Your shadow is drawn behind you in a way that acknowledges the position of the sun. [[Turn around]] [[Walk toward the water]]

Your town is behind you. You see your house. The mountains behind it look like giant waves. The magical light gathers around your feet.